


Sanctuary

by EldritchMage



Series: Logan and Rachel Osaka [8]
Category: Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchMage/pseuds/EldritchMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Part 8 of my Logan and Rachel Osaka series.</p><p>After surviving a plane crash in British Columbia, Rachel and Logan spend some time in Brazil at the beach. But when was the last time Logan ever enjoyed the beach? When he takes off on one of those jobs he can't talk about, Rachel comes home to New York to find out... it's not home anymore. Her friend Daniel O'Shea thinks he can help with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

Imagine a beautiful Brazilian villa on a private beach overlooking the Atlantic. Add a man and a woman with nothing to do but heal, bask in the golden sun, swim in the blue water, savor each other. For more sensory delights, indulge in redfish and scallops grilled fresh from the sea and sun-warmed, just-picked fruits and vegetables. Idyllic. Peaceful. Most people’s dream of Eden.

Now imagine the Wolverine, the man I loved as Logan, pacing on the villa terrace like a caged animal. Whatever Eden was for him, this wasn’t it.

Logan said that he started getting up early to make coffee. That might work with a non-mutant. But I _am_ a mutant – I sense emotions, as well as the time streams that flow before and after the present moment. I didn’t have to get out of bed to see Logan doing hundreds of push-ups and endless repetitions of martial arts sequences on the terrace, and running up and down the beach with more intensity than the beautiful sunrise and the heavenly weather merited.

After he didn’t speak of it for two days, I waited until he was in the middle of those push-ups and eased out of bed. I stood by the terrace door, folded my arms across my chest, and leaned on the doorjamb.

“We don’t have to stay here.”

Logan didn’t pause in his reps and he didn’t speak, but his emotions tinged with regret.

“You can go anytime you like, Logan.”

Logan still didn’t react visibly, but his emotions flushed with irritation – and guilt.

I stooped down to put a gentle hand on his shoulder, not enough to hinder him.

“I’m okay, Logan. I’m fine.”

He snorted. “If you wanna do something more constructive than jaw, darlin’, hop on.”

I kneeled on his back, my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as he resumed pushing himself up and down. Logan’s skeleton is coated with adamantium, but his strength comes from more than metal, and it’s impressive enough to behold, much less feel it coil and uncoil under my hands. He continued as if my 45 kilos added no more weight than a feather. I waited patiently as he rolled off uncounted reps, finally burning off enough restlessness to lower himself to the tile.

“Hungry?”

“Gettin’ there.”

I stood carefully and started to massage his back with my feet. His emotions, not his voice, told me that he enjoyed the attention.

“It costs fifty American dollars in the Ginza to get a massage like this,” I teased.

“Twice that when the girl’s naked like you are.”

“The voice of experience.”

He rolled over slowly so I didn’t lose my balance when I stepped back onto the terrace. He snared my hand and drew me down on top of him. He was inside before I could stop him – as if I’d want to.

“Lot more than that for a hands-free massage.”

“Then you owe me big time. Especially because I’m on top.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Put it on my tab, darlin’.”

I gave him what he wanted, savoring the pleasure in his emotions that swirled around me as clearly as my own. Before long, he rolled over and returned my attentions ten fold. I gave him what he wanted, which was to fully enjoy all he offered. Logan was sweet like that – he made love with all the advantages of his animal senses and his self-assurance, but what added an equal fillip of eroticism was how much he savored my enjoyment. For him, being alpha male meant that he as thorough about my pleasure as he was about his own.

That made me doubly careful of his. When we timed it right, the emotional feedback loop was like nothing I’d found with anyone else. This time, we timed it right.

When our orgasms calmed, Logan rolled over again to cradle me against his chest. I savored the early morning sun on my back and the caress of Logan’s fingers against my cheek, but they were just the start – add to those sensations the heat radiating from Logan’s body, the rumble of his contented subvocalizations, the momentary calm in his emotions.

“Feel better?” I teased softly.

Logan lay quietly with his eyes shut, his subvocalizations as deep as those of a drowsy lion. He rubbed my back slowly. “Always do, darlin’.”

“So now we just have to figure out what to do about your wanderlust.”

His eyes opened to skewer mine with reproach – and exasperation. Logan was too honorable to lie to me – he couldn’t, anyway, given my talents – but sometimes maybe he wished he could.

“Rachel –”

“We’ve been here a week, Logan. We don’t need to stay longer if we don’t want to. If you want to go to Canada, we can. If you need to take a job, you can. I’m perfectly capable of going to Canada with you, or heading elsewhere if you’ve got a job lined up.”

Logan sat up, drawing me with him, and I shifted to accommodate his cross-legged seat on the tile, wrapping my legs around his waist. His arms went around my hips, settling deeply into me, and mine went around his neck – the classic yogi and yogini pose. His emotions grumbled in my head softly.

“Yeah? Where?”

“The world’s a big place, Logan.”

“That ain’t what you said before we crashed in Canada. You said you felt penned in.”

“You feel penned in right now. That’s the immediate problem.”

“It ain’t a problem, darlin’ –”

I put my fingers to Logan’s lips. He nibbled one with a mock growl, drawing my smile.

“I love _you_ , Logan. Not you in a cage.”

I’d never been so blunt about my regard for Logan. His emotions jumped like I’d lashed them with a whip, and he subvocalized his anger at my betrayal of our unspoken rule.

“You don’t like what Weapon X did to me. I don’t, either. You blame yourself for putting me in their crosshairs. I don’t. I’m not their assassin, but I learned what they taught me. I’m not the icy robot Roshi Timisu wanted, either, but I learned how to control my projections down to a tee. For better or worse, I am a walking, talking land mine for whoever is dumb enough to come after me. That means that I love having my samurai with me, but I don’t need him by my side every moment to function. I’m fine.”

“Still haven’t told me where you’d go if I bug out.”

“Maybe I’d stay here. Porto de Pedras is a beautiful place.”

“You won’t.”

“Does it matter?”

“The particulars don’t. But your reasons for choosin’ the particulars do.”

I traced a finger down Logan’s chest, but he caught my hand before I got to his ticklish rib.

“If you want to make love again, I’m hungry enough to indulge you. But even great sex doesn’t put me off a scent, Rachel. Are you thinkin’ about buggin’ out to Seattle, or are you thinkin’ about livin’?”

I thought about evasion, but Logan subvocalized, telling me that he’d be in my face if I tried. I chuckled ruefully as I massaged his shoulders. I was no more able to lie in the face of his talents than he was in mine. But maybe sometimes I wished I could, too.

“I hope I stay in this world as long as you do.”

He nodded acceptance. “I want that, too…”

His hesitation drew my eyes to his, and I waited without urging him to one thing or another. He grimaced, stroked my hair restlessly. Those were signs enough of what he didn’t say, would never say, and I savored that even more than I did making love with him again. In our classic pose, we brought the Kama Sutra to life, using consummate muscular control to reach ultimate consummation.

When I peaked, he held me against his chest, cradling me as I let physical and emotional ecstasy overwhelm me. He put his mouth close to my ear.

“Scrappy enough to keep fightin’. That’s the way I love you, Rachel Osaka. Stay that way.”

I would cherish those gruff words all my life.

The only thing that could follow such a conversation was hours of silence. We ate breakfast, drowsed over coffee, swam at the beach, even sparred a little on the sand. When the sun threatened to get too hot, we went inside, showered, had lunch, and settled on the couch. Conversation finally resumed all too casually, rambling for a minute before I brought it around to what I’d asked earlier this morning.

“So is it Eastern Europe this time?”

Logan’s resignation was disguised as an icy stare. “You’re still lyin’ in wait around that water hole?”

“Uhm-hm. So be a good zebra and let the lioness feed. Or would you rather I seduce you again?”

He grinned. “Thought I was the one doin’ that this mornin’.”

“One of my talents is letting you think it’s all your idea.”

He chuckled. “Don’t matter to me who starts it as long as I finish it.”

I climbed into his lap, straddling him, massaging his shoulders. He started to respond, but again I touched his lips gently with my fingers.

“Please, Logan.”

A second passed, a long second, before he exhaled in capitulation. “I did get a call, darlin’.”

Logan disdained his cell phone for months at a time when it suited him. The mere fact that he’d picked it up was another admission of his restlessness.

“It’s okay, Logan. You aren’t made to idle on the beach. I know that.”

“Neither are you,” he riposted. “You just don’t know it yet. I’ll stay here as long as you need –”

“Tell me about the call.”

He shook his head. “Can’t.”

“But you want to take it.”

“It’s what I do,” he agreed.

“Then take it. What’s hard about that?”

He glared at me again, so I shrugged.

“What’s hard about that?” I repeated. “We’re both recovered from the snow, we’ve had fun in Brazil, and you have a job. When do you leave?”

“Any time in the next three days.”

I went to clamber off him. “I can arrange my own flight easily enough in that time.”

His hands on my thighs held me in place. “Don’t have to do it right now.”

“No, but I will.”

“Where to?” he growled softly but pointedly.

I didn’t know where, but what came out of my mouth was, “New York.”

“Back home?” he questioned.

I shrugged. “I haven’t been to my apartment in six months, Logan. There are probably ten crises just in my backed-up mail. I ought to sort it out.”

He accepted that and let me go. I went over to the ubiquitous villa console that sat discreetly in the corner of the living room, keyed it to incoming visual only and muted, and called up the airlines. The holographic images hung in the air to list flights and times, carriers and connections. A few quick flicks of my fingers, and I had the contact information for the local shuttle service that would take us to Maceió, the closest city, as well as a list of all the flights from the Zumbi do Palmares International Airport north to the States. Logan came up behind me and pointed to the shuttle service.

“If you book us for late tomorrow morning, I can see you off to LaGuardia before I head east.”

I agreed, and our shuttle reservations were set a heartbeat later. Then I booked a first class seat to LaGuardia for me, and one to London for Logan. When all was confirmed, I lifted my hand one last time, banishing the holograms. As I did so, Logan’s hand brushed the nape of my neck and traced down my back. As usual, he didn’t speak, but I felt his thanks all the same.

 

* * *

 

Logan and I made sure we both slept through our last night in Brazil. When the sun was well up, we enjoyed ourselves and the remaining hours until noon, ate a leisurely brunch, packed our few things, and caught the shuttle service to the city. By two, we were in the bustling Zumbi international terminal. My flight to the States would leave in three hours, so we spent the time in one of the international lounges, silent for the most part. When it was time, Logan walked me to the gate.

“I won’t ask you to be careful, but come back in one piece, whenever that is,” I asked him quietly in Japanese, the language we spoke when together.

Logan grinned. “Always my goal, darlin’.”

The flight attendant called for first class passengers to board. I put the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

“Good-bye, Logan.”

Logan put his hand behind my head and kissed my lips briefly. He hated PDAs, so even such a brief caress was a surprise.

“See ya, darlin’. Leave a message when you find a port in the storm.”

He turned and disappeared into the crowd without a backward look.

I hadn’t fooled him in the least, but he trusted me enough to let me do what I thought was right. It took me a second to get my emotions, any thought of projecting, under control, long enough that the impatient businessman behind me muttered exasperated words in English for the airheaded Asian woman to get a move on, thinking I didn’t understand him. That helped me focus.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” I murmured softly to the man, who had the grace to look embarrassed. Then I boarded the plane.

 

* * *

 

Wasn’t easy leaving Rachel to board that plane alone. She wasn’t as calm inside as she wanted me to believe, and despite my restlessness, I’d gotten used to being with her. But I appreciated having a woman who wasn’t afraid to let me go, especially when she didn’t want to. She needed to spend time alone, even if she didn’t stay in New York.

 _I love_ you _, Logan. Not you in a cage._

Won’t be easy to keep that from echoing in my sieve of a brain.

_Hang tough, Rachel. I’ll find you wherever you end up._

Now, gotta find the gate for that flight to London. Should make it to the continent about six hours after that. Got a little border dust-up to take care of someplace east. After that, I got a line on the last two vermin who were unlucky enough to escape from Rachel’s Weapon X prison in Chicago…

 

* * *

 

I spent the eight-hour flight trying not to think. The last time I’d flown across an ocean, the pilot had died of a heart attack over the middle of snowy nowhere in British Columbia, and I’d ended up being thrown out of the plane on my first-ever parachute jump. After the plane had crashed, I’d had to drag Logan out of the wreckage when he’d been little more than bits of meat connected only by his adamantium skeleton. We’d spent two weeks in the snow before we’d gotten back to civilization. Before that, I’d spent three months in Japan trying to control emotional projections that I’d manifested during a two-month incarceration with Logan’s old nemesis, Weapon X. Before that – never mind. The upshot was that this flight was the first time I’d been in a mundane, normal situation for a long time. My brain didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t worry about the plane crashing again, or renegades from military covert operation programs hijacking the plane to drag me back to a cell. My time senses told me that this would be a quiet, sedate normal flight without any other end than a reasonably satisfying dinner of filet of sole with béarnaise sauce, broccoli, a fruit cup, and chocolate mousse. I didn’t have anyone in the window seat next to me, so I had a little physical distance from the other first class passengers, if not emotional distance.

I had a glass of a good merlot. The sheer normalcy of it all was surreal. I didn’t have Logan’s rumble of emotions in the back of my senses, a reassurance I’d come to take great comfort in.

I keyed the seat terminal and read the in-flight magazine, did the crossword puzzle and the cryptogram, skimmed three or four magazines, and availed myself of the white noise-generating earphones to try to sleep. But the sheer weight of emotions confined in the plane with me made that a spotty thing. Eventually the time passed, and I deplaned in New York City at close to five o’clock in the afternoon.

Now what?

I hadn’t really wanted to come back to New York.

The press of millions of people around me was intense.

I thought about booking another flight, any flight. I even called up the reservation system at the nearest terminal and scanned the offerings. Charleston, St. Louis, Los Angeles… There were flights overseas to London and Paris…

I let the terminal display fade. I found that place to hover above emotions that Roshi Timisu had shown me. I hailed a taxi.

I stopped the taxi in front of an all-night grocery to get things for a day or two and walked the one block home. My Jaguar was still parked in its usual spot in the basement garage, so I went upstairs.

I shut the door behind me and smelled the flat, dead scent of vacancy. There were no emotional echoes of anyone other than the mailman even venturing near this place for uncounted weeks past. I didn’t even sense myself. The pile of letters, junk circulars, and magazines under the mail slot was impressive.

After a few seconds spent listening to the silence, I edged around the monolithic heap of mail and went into the living room. I sat on the couch in the dark and tried to decide what to feel. I didn’t feel much of anything, really. Was the numbness that’d been my companion since Alberta smothering me again? Or was this empty place past numbness?

I turned on the lights, picked all the mail off the foyer floor and piled it on the kitchen counter to sort, then took my bag back to my bedroom and unpacked its spare contents. I took a long shower to wash off my weariness, and when I was clean and dry, I sorted out the junk mail and dumped it down the recycling chute. I made tea and ate the smoked turkey salad I’d bought. I ignored the flashing of my phone machine as I washed the dishes. Then I went to bed.

I wondered if I’d have nightmares. If I’d be afraid because I was alone.

I missed Logan.

I lay awake for a long time. Maybe it was jet lag. Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe it really was numbness.

I eventually figured out that for the first time in a long time, I had no anchor, no base.

I fell asleep and don’t remember dreaming.

The next morning, with the sun streaming in my windows, I felt less of the disorientation that I’d felt last night, though I still missed Logan’s emotions. I made an omelet and coffee and tackled the pile of mail as I ate. I found no crises lurking there, but I was struck at how little the items relating to my business interested me now. I doubted if I’d ever go back to it. But what I would do remained to be seen. Nothing reached out to me.

I dealt with the phone messages. Most of them were spam. The rest weren’t important.

The harder mess to straighten out was my email. All that saved me was my long-established practice of setting up important bills for automatic payment. Several magazine subscriptions had expired, which was a relief in its own fashion. A few friends were angry at being ignored. They had no idea what had happened since they’d last seen me, and I wasn’t going to tell them.

Daniel O’Shea had left me several messages. Next to Logan, he was my closest friend, a long, lanky albino with a thick Scottish brogue and an electronic data jack embedded behind his right ear that allowed him to commune with what he called his wee beasties, the electrons that made electronic data flow possible. His mutant name was Daemon. He was the only person other than my grandmother and Logan who knew what I’d experienced during the past six months. So there were no repercussions or hurt feelings for my silence. In fact, the first five of his six messages were identical –

_Small sister, ring me when you get home. Your pale brother._

The sixth message had arrived just before I’d gotten home.

_Welcome home, small sister. Ring me once you’ve sorted out your posts. Your pale brother._

I thought about whether to call as I wiped a dust cloth over my furniture and vacuumed up the dust bunnies. I was trying to reconnect to my life here, to remember the person who lived here. I recognized the things around me. Some of them had been quite important at one time. But they were from a past now disconnected, and I was left with a clean apartment and a depressing dissatisfaction.

This was more than missing my lover or recovering from PTSD. I was a stranger in my own home.

I called Daniel in the early afternoon, after I’d eaten the last of my provisions from last night.

“Rachel! You’re home! How are you? How was your flight from Brazil?”

I laughed. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Daniel?”

“With every wee beastie I can spare, lass,” he shot back with much laughter and no shame.

“Then you probably already know that my flight was uneventful, I stopped at Graham’s Grocery last night for their famous wild rice and smoked turkey salad, and this morning I sorted through the mountain of mail that nearly blocked the door.”

“I don’t need my beasties tae know that, Rachel,” Daniel snorted. “I could surmise that all on my own. But tell me how you’re doing.”

I sighed. “I’m fine, Daniel. Really. But I’m not sure I want to be here.”

“I’m sorry, lass,” Daniel said softly. “I cannae imagine what it must feel like, with all that’s happened. And I don’t suppose you know where your dark laddie is, either.”

“Of course not. He’s working. And if you know, don’t tell me. It’s hard enough trying to deal with everything without knowing what nasty part of the world he’s taken himself to.”

“Understood,” Daniel replied. “But I’m glad you called. I wanted to ask you tae dinner. I may not be the chef you are, my dear, but I make verra good salmon and French bread, and I wanted tae show you my new place. You haven’t been here since I moved.”

Daniel had been forced out of his beloved downtown loft when Weapon X had tried to kidnap him. He’d outfoxed them, and with Charles Xavier’s help, he’d relocated to a new place with much tighter security. I’d imagined it as some sort of dark vault at first, but despite Daniel’s difficulty with bright light, he was a creature of the outdoors, and he’d remarked several times that he was happy there. We chatted as he sent directions to my email, and we agreed that I’d arrive whenever I chose to.

I changed into jeans and a sweater, found my warmest jacket and boots, and went downstairs to hope that my Jaguar started. It was an antique, and most temperamental when it was most inconvenient. I turned the key and hoped.

Of course Colin, my angel of a mechanic, had stopped by periodically to keep the Jaguar in good trim, so it started without protest. I headed to my usual grocery store. I picked out a bottle of wine, some staples, and an assortment of Daniel’s favorite sushi before heading out of the city. The GPS system got me through the fray in good time, and it was only 2:30 p.m. when I pulled up to an impressive and beautiful iron gate. A small visor extended to scan my retina, then the gate opened with little sound. I drove up a slight hill bordered with trees. Just past the crest, a grey granite building that looked like a cross between a European castle and a Gothic cathedral appeared about a quarter mile away. As I pulled up, Daniel trotted out of the main entrance to wave enthusiastically at me.

“Hallo!” he called. “Welcome to Sanctuary!”

He bounded to the passenger side of the car and climbed in to give me a quick kiss.

“Hello, Daniel. You look great!”

“Thanks, lass,” he beamed, squinting in the bright sunlight. “So do you.”

“Where are your sunglasses? You’re going to hurt your eyes, as bright as it is.”

“I’ll be fine,” he dismissed my concern with a big grin. “Come on, let me show you where tae park. Head round the back.”

I duly pointed the Jaguar in the direction Daniel pointed, and soon found myself behind the huge building facing what looked like a row of small cloister doors.

“Just drive towards that one,” Daniel pointed negligently towards the second door on the left.

“Just drive towards that one,” I repeated with some skepticism and a smile.

He nodded mischievously. “That one.”

His grin was so infectious that I did just that, despite the apparent certainty that the antique car my father had given me a decade ago would suffer the worst from thick oak planking. Of course, there was no collision. As I approached, the door Daniel indicated, as well as the door on either side of it, rose to reveal a spacious two-car garage. Daniel’s heavy off-road cruiser, well spattered with mud, was on the left, so I pulled into the vacant space on the right.

“Very nice,” I nodded, eyeing Daniel with a smile. “Would you…?”

“It’s keyed tae whatever vehicle I designate,” he said airily. “’T was but the work of a moment tae tell my beasties the particulars of your bonny car. No need to wonder where the remote is or what the code is. Verra convenient. Verra secure, as well.”

“Very,” I agreed.

“So come inside. There are a lot more wonders tae see.”

“I dare say.” I chuckled at the anticipatory light dancing in Daniel’s red eyes.

He bolted out to open my door for me and hand me out of the Jag’s low-slung seat. As the garage door lowered behind us, bright lights switched on to reveal lots of neatly stacked boxes, mountain climbing paraphernalia gear hanging from the rafters, and other sundry stuff. A pair of hiking boots, still bearing traces of the same mud that decorated his cruiser, dangled from the ceiling by their laces, waiting for a final cleaning or Daniel’s next foray. I opened the car boot to take out my presents, which Daniel pounced on with his usual enthusiasm.

“That wouldnae be sushi, would it? And what’s in the other bags?”

“Yes to the sushi. There’s also some wine, and since you didn’t mention dessert, I thought I’d make those cinnamon buns I promised you a long time ago. With raisins.”

“They must have raisins,” Daniel avowed, stuffing part of an eel roll in his mouth and gathering up the rest of the sushi and one of the bags. “Mmm. Quite good, this. It was too long ago, that promise of yours. You still owe me some wee pecan tarts, too.”

“Next trip,” I promised, taking other two bags and the ducking under the hiking boots to follow my host up two steps to the door that led inside.

We came into a wide and airy central hall, paneled in polished oak and ebony and walnut. A broad wooden stair led up to five floors, its railings beautiful with ornate wrought iron and polished brass. He led me upstairs with his usual long, loping stride, taking the stairs a pair at a time. I followed more slowly to appreciate the beautiful paneling and ironwork.

“Quite the beauty, no?” Daniel murmured, as he watched me take in the details.

“It certainly is,” I agreed, reaching out to touch the brass railing. It passed me the heat of the foundry, shaping, polishing, and a long, slow decay followed by salvage and restoration. Behind it were whispers of the people who lived here, some in residence, others who had ventured out into the world to return later. Half of the apartments were empty of tenants, but still, I sensed the emotional prickle that I’d come to associate with mutants, and surprisingly, contentment. I hadn’t expected that.

“This isn’t a typical seventeenth-century building,” I said, looking up at Daniel who regarded me curiously, aware that my talents were active. “But the woodwork certainly is. Someone put a lot of effort into fitting yesterday’s beauty into today’s space.”

“That they did. What else do you sense, sma sister? Your eyes…”

“I know. They’re glowing. I hope that doesn’t bother your eyes. It’s… a side effect of… things.”

He swallowed the last of his eel roll. “You just looked so thoughtful. I’m told that when my beasties are singing tae me, I look quite googly. The flood of the data, you see.”

I chuckled as we resumed our way up. “You do, I’m afraid. Quite entranced.”

“Is it like that when you touch something?”

“A flood is a good description. For example, when I touched the railing, I got a sense of everything about it from forging through to who touched it today. People are another thing. More complicated, more layered, probably because of the potential that they bring to one thing or another. What I feel of the people here… they’re happy. That surprised me. They’re all mutants, aren’t they?”

Daniel nodded. “So they are. The place is half empty right now, so there are only five of us – I’ll tell you about them in a bit. Good neighbors, if prone tae eccentric habits. Some have had some harrowing times, though I don’t think as extreme as yours. This is a safe place, and we appreciate that verra much.”

We reached the top of the stair, where two doors presented themselves on either side of a broad landing. A skylight overhead flooded the place with beautiful light that made the light walnut paneling and oak flooring glow. A huge marble angel, fully eight feet tall, stood between the doors, flanked on either side by gracefully curved wrought iron tables that matched the railing. The effect was far from stuffy, as a papiér maché figure perched on the beveled glass top of each table. Both were vaguely forest-sprite-like in shades of dappled green and brown, both clearly male with penetrating eyes that were so lifelike I almost expected the figures to move. One was sitting with one leg drawn up, the other dangling over the side of the table, busily munching on the fish that glistened in the osier basket in his lap. His brother sprite stood, his prehensile feet grasping the edge of the table as he prepared to cast his fishing line over the balustrade. The angel, beautiful and remote, watched impassively between them.

“Is this your contribution to the public décor?” I smiled as Daniel paused before the door on the left.

“What? Oh, you mean Burns and MacGregor,” Daniel grinned. “Mac’s the lad with the fishing pole. The angel’s Cathonael. She was here when I moved in. The Scottish pixies are here at my invitation and the three of them seem quite happy tae share the space. Now, please come in and be verra welcome, Rachel.”

Daniel led me into his apartment, which was as bright and airy a place as the hallway, if more cluttered. Daniel was not a pack rack, nor was he the typical messy bachelor… Daniel just had a lot of stuff. He’d climbed mountains all over the world, and he’d brought back bits of each place he’d visited. A Maori mask heavily tattooed with distinctive black swirls revealed his time in New Zealand. Beautiful alpaca throws from the Andes lay folded over each heavy oxblood leather chair and ottoman. Scottish bagpipes decked out in the Mackenzie tartan of Daniel’s maternal clan hung proudly on the wall, poised and ready to play at a moment’s notice. A Swiss clock perched on a sturdy table. As Daniel led me past the foyer, tall bookcases lined the library on the left, neatly stuffed near to bursting with books, journals, maps, and stacks of computer media. In contrast, the kitchen was sleek and spare in dark green granite and cherry wood, for Daniel was of my own mind when it came to cooking tools – keep it simple, and buy the best. Wüsthof knives, cast-iron Le Creuset pans, and plaid Forbes china (from Scotland, of course) were enough for him. Just past the kitchen was his computer haunt, loaded with more processing power than found in many small countries. I fully expected Daniel to jack himself into his feeds as soon as he shut the door behind us, but he declined.

“Company deserves attention, and my sma sister deserves more than that. If anything important happens, my beasties will let me know whether I’m in the flow or not. Now, let me welcome you properly.”

Daniel put his bags down on the kitchen counter and wound his long arms around me. He hugged me hard, his gratitude for my safe return washing over me. I hugged him back just as hard.

“I’m so, so happy tae have you safely back, sma sister,” he murmured. “Maybe I wasnae physically with you in Chicago or in Sapporo, but my thoughts were, and I was that worried.”

“Thank you, pale brother,” I whispered. “ I didn’t get to thank you for all you did to get me away from Weapon X.”

“Your dark laddie did that.”

“Not alone. You told him and the X-Men where I was, and your beasties shut down the facility so they could get inside. Logan couldn’t have gotten me out without you. Thank you so much.”

Daniel patted me on the back to comfort himself as much as me. “It was my pleasure. You don’t know how much. Now, would you like a glass of wine? I hope so, because I’m about to put you tae work in the kitchen. Cinnamon rolls, with raisins!”

“A glass of wine would be wonderful. And I’m going to put you to work, too. Tell me what’s happened to you since I saw you last. Logan said that Weapon X tried to kidnap you.”

As I unpacked the things for Daniel’s rolls, he loped around his kitchen for bowls and spoons and whatever else I needed, talking all the while. He told me about his close call the night before I was kidnapped, and his part in my rescue. While I’d been in Japan learning to control my projections, Daniel had gone back to his data mining, but with a new slant. For one thing, he and Logan had collaborated to make sure all the people who’d known of my kidnapping were properly ratted out. Daniel didn’t say and I didn’t ask, but from the swirl of fury that simmered behind Daniel’s red eyes, I was sure that Logan had followed Daniel’s “ratting out” with something permanent.

I didn’t bat an eye. I’d long since learned that there were times when one’s preference for fair and honorable play was something you observed only if you felt suicidal.

When the dough was ensconced in the warming oven to rise, Daniel showed me around his rooms. As high as the ceilings were, he’d built himself a comfortable sleeping loft above his computer den.

“No way I’d give up the loft,” he assured me with a serious shake of his head. “That’s what kept me from the cell next tae yours, lass. I heard the rats coming in through the window, and I was in the loft. ’T was but a moment before I was up in the ductwork. So despite all the fancy computer stuff, I kept the old fashioned hide-in-plain-sight as well.”

He didn’t dwell on his close call, but cheerfully pointed out the sights visible from his windows. It was quite a view. Daniel’s windows faced northwest, and the sun streamed in to make a glorious display that he clearly relished for all that his eyes didn’t like the glare. Then he crooked his finger at me mysteriously.

“Now that you’ve seen my place, I want tae show you something else.”

“What?” I asked curiously, for Daniel headed for his front door.

“Just come and look.”

I followed him outside, past Mac and Burns, to the door on the other side.

“What’s this?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

Daniel had the door open in a blink. I looked at him suspiciously. “Are you supposed to be able to open that?”

Daniel shrugged without concern. “My beasties will say we were never here. And we won’t be for long. But I think you’ll like what you see.”

The apartment was empty, nothing but smooth oak flooring and tall windows facing southeast. With nothing in it, not even walls or screens to segment the space, the apartment was much bigger than I had realized in Daniel’s rooms. The walls were finished in a pale cream, just darker than the ornate white molding around the windows and doors. For whatever reason, the floor just inside the door was laid with a salvaged mosaic of a dancing Buddhist dakini perhaps six feet square. It and the molding were the only hint of decor. It was a large prepared canvas, waiting.

“You said you felt like a stranger in your place,” Daniel murmered as I moved slowly to the windows. He leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms over his chest to regard me. “Ever since I moved here, when I saw this, I thought it’d suit you. It faces southeast, perfect for seeing the most bonnie sunrises from those windows, which I know is more tae your taste than mine.”

“Ever the night owl, you,” I acknowledged.

“Assuredly so. This place is bigger than your own, and you can make of it what you will. It’s got all the same security features that every apartment has here, and they’re extensive. I know, because I designed them. Maybe the place doesn’t have the bustle of downtown, but now that your talents are so attuned, the quiet might be a relief. And the stars are quite nice replacements for neon and streetlights. Would you think about it?”

I looked out over the pastoral fields, dotted here and there with other gray stone buildings. The similarity in their design spoke of an overseeing hand, and I looked back at Daniel curiously.

“This is more than an apartment building, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “I’ll tell you about that over dinner. I’m less interested in you being part of that, though I think you’d like that, too. But for right now, I think you need space tae settle.”

A swirl of anger curled around me, nothing directed at me. “What makes you think that, Daniel?”

“You do,” he shrugged. “But that’s not the only thing. I’ll tell you about that after dinner.”

I shook my head with a wry smile. “Maybe I should get those cinnamon rolls ready. Sounds like we’re going to have a long evening.”

“Don’t forget the raisins,” Daniel prompted with an impish grin.

“Perish the thought,” I threw up my hands as I followed Daniel back to his apartment.

While I flattened out the dough and mixed the filling (making sure to include a double portion of Daniel’s favorite dried fruit), Daniel told me of this place. Though Professor Xavier had first told Daniel about it, it had no connection with the telepath or any of the X-Men. I didn’t say so, but I was relieved about that. Ever since the Professor had dismissed Logan and me from the mansion, I’d wanted no contact with him. I accepted and regretted that I’d nearly unmade Jean, and that neither Scott nor the Professor had forgiven me for that. But Logan hadn’t merited Xavier’s dismissal or the abrupt severing of his ties to one of the few groups of people he’d come to feel a connection to. Scott’s anger had stung me, but not as much as the Professor’s rejection of Logan, or the silent regret that whispered in Logan’s emotions.

Daniel told me that the complex of buildings I’d seen from the windows were the homes of other mutants who for one reason or another had sought safety. None of them had been pursued by Weapon X the way I had, or even as Daniel had. Many had helpful talents that had simply frightened enough people that their lives were in danger.

Maybe the original intent of the group who had offered refuge to these mutants had had a bit of a come-the-apocalypse mentality, but over the years those elements had died out. The first mutants had worked hard to use their talents to benefit humanity, mutant and nonmutant alike, and the money had slowly grown to a flood from patents, medical procedures, time-saving devices, and so on. That work continued today, and I expected that Daniel’s expertise had added a significant amount to the group’s coffers. Unlike the X-Men, this group worked behind the scenes, slowly and carefully, enhancing all human life without confrontation. Not everyone in the complex was an active participant. For example, Daniel told me of one resident, a gifted poet and author of several popular books of children’s rhymes, who was so frail that he was unable to move more than a finger on his own, but he was cared for and happy.

“That’s why I’d like you to think about moving in next door,” Daniel said quietly as we finished the last of the wine. We’d talked for hours over Daniel’s divine Scottish salmon, his warm and crusty French bread, his usual collection of greens and strange vinegars, and the cinnamon rolls, and had adjourned to the couch that faced the big windows in Daniel’s living room. The lights were off because neither of us needed more illumination than what the gibbous moon and stars gave us to see. “You don’t have to prove anything, do anything, say anything until you’re settled. If that takes years, so be it. No one’s going to care as long as you pay the rent – or the mortgage, actually.”

Daniel reached for another cinnamon roll. He’d already eaten so many that I was sure he was going to be sick.

“What a way tae go,” he teased.

“If you get sick, you’ll never want to see one of those rolls again.”

He conceded the possibility with a shrug. “You have a point. All right, last one. So, will you think about it? The apartment?”

I sipped my wine and looked up at the stars visible through the big windows and skylight. The place was beautiful, and the emotional echoes I’d sampled so far were calming.

“It’s a great place, Daniel. It really is. And the apartment is wonderful. But I don’t think you understand how… disruptive I might be to the other mutants.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed, not wanting to get into this. “My talents… aren’t… always safe to be around.”

When Daniel nodded, his regret flowed to me. “I know more about that than you know, lass.”

I looked at him slumped at the other end of the couch, not quite meeting my eyes. “You read what was in the data you took from the place where I was held.”

His glance was pained, regret mixed with grief, anger, disgust. “I didn’t merely read it, Rachel. When I’m in the flow, my beasties bring it tae me in three-D, in video/audio/sense-o-rama. Live. Unexpurgated. Condensed into nanoseconds. It’s as if I were there when the data was recorded, just a hell of a lot faster.”

I shut my eyes, both against the pain I got from Daniel and my own vulnerability. I tried to swallow down the lump and keep the tears from my eyes. I didn’t succeed completely, but I was quiet.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. It must feel like I’m salting fresh wounds. I didnae seek it out, but there was so, so much of it, and I didnae think you knew everything you needed to about it. You were verra, verra drugged most of the time.”

I concentrated for some seconds, making sure I didn’t project, didn’t overwhelm my friend with what I felt. Daniel honored that, letting me find my balance before he patted my hand gently.

“I didnae pass every scrap of that to Xavier. There was enough there with the assassination training that I didnae need tae send the rest. No one knows the rest but you and me.”

“How bad was it?”

Daniel paused, trying to find gentle words. “When I say you need tae protect yourself, lass, I don’t just mean your life. I think the bastards wanted tae take some of your ova tae breed, and tissue tae clone.”

Nothing Weapon X did shocked me, so I merely asked, “Did they?”

“The ova… I dinnae think so. Thank your stubbornness for that. You weren’t doing what they wanted, and they hadn’t worked out how tae get past that. They wanted more compliance. I traced the thread of your ova as far as I could, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t go past the discussion. But they had more than enough samples of the rest of you for cloning and drug synthesis – blood, spinal fluid, tissue samples…”

“Why did they want that, Daniel? It makes no sense. I know enough about Logan’s time with those monsters fifty years ago to know that the project ultimately ended in failure. They could twist people into something that looked like super soldiers, but they couldn’t control them. Every one of them went rogue one way or another. The program was shut down in disgrace.”

“It was fifty years ago,” Daniel agreed. “I’m speculating about this part, but what if enough time had gone by for someone tae manipulate the data, make the program seem viable again with a few twists –”

“Daniel, I’m not soldier material. Look at me!” I protested.

He sipped his wine moodily. “No, you’re not. And that’s why they didn’t train you tae be a conventional soldier, did they, lass?”

I fell silent for a while. “They trained me to be an assassin. I thought it was just to get back at Logan, to drive him back into the fold. But I learned as many terrorist as assassination techniques.”

“Right,” Daniel nodded. “No one would gae you a second look in any civilian situation.”

“But… this was in Chicago, Daniel. Not Canada. Unless… there’s a joint agreement…”

“Now you’re thinking,” Daniel agreed again. “You were just the first test subject, you know. They were going tae bring in more. That’s why I wanted tae blow the place up – eliminate the physical samples they took from you, destroy the equipment, and slap those bastards as hard as I could away from continuing such horrors. There are techniques tae recover data even on media that’s been stripped, and I didnae want tae give them that chance. And I had my own point tae make about their arrogance.”

“Ever the highland rebel,” I smiled thinly. “What else did you find?”

Daniel finished his wine, poured himself another half glass. When he offered the bottle to me, I held out my glass for a similar amount. “How much do you remember?”

“It seemed like the same thing over and over and over again when I was going through it,” I mused. “The drugs made it hard for me to tell how much time had passed, what was memory and what was real. But recently I’ve remembered some odd things. Explosives training. Communications equipment. Weapons training, most of which I’d already gotten on my own in all those classes I took – what did you call them?”

He laughed. “Yahoo maniac training. A bunch of crazy American SAS wanna-bes out in the Black Hills of Dakota, apologies to Sir Paul.”

“That was it,” I chuckled. “Some of it was weird, but most of it was legit. Anyway, Weapon X didn’t spend much time on guns because I knew enough already, and there was no martial arts training at all.”

“Because you were already lethal there,” Daniel said softly.

I flushed with shame.

“Thank God you were,” Daniel hastened to say. “They’d’ve killed you if you hadn’t been sae good. Every time you put one of those vermin down, I was glad. But I didnae like that you had tae do such things. But what I was getting at was how many sims they ran in urban areas.”

I nodded. “Often it was Tokyo. Maybe they thought that’d look familiar, but I’ve rarely been there.”

“There were a lot in Eastern European and U.S. cities. None in the Middle East, I suspect because you’re so clearly Asian, and couldn’t blend in as well. Not that you would in Belgrade or DC, but they’re a lot more used tae Asian tourists there.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure any of that mattered, Daniel. What they didn’t realize was that my empathic talents meant I always knew when they were running a sim. More to the point, I always knew when a target was a sim, even when I was drugged. Remember when I first met you? When I was doing my own experiments to enhance my talents? I didn’t end up with the senses that Logan has, but what I’ve got is better than human, and I can smell the difference between a sim and a real situation. So most of what I remember was them trying to push me past my own boundaries to kill.”

Daniel nodded. “You stuck tae your guns a lot longer than I would have. I’d’ve offed the bastards from the start, and the very second they turned me loose, I’d’ve run like the banshees were after me.”

“Maybe I should’ve done that, too,” I shrugged. “The drugs took that away from me after a while. I was just there, reacting. I didn’t think past that very often.”

“As you said, the drugs,” Daniel agreed. “I sent that stuff off tae your friend Hank McCoy. He was as outraged as a kinsman, Rachel. And it’s a good thing Logan showed up when he did. The next batch of poison they planned for you was fiendishly addictive, with the sole antidote only a temporary solution.”

I winced. “There’s something else I think they tried to do, Daniel.”

“What’s that?” he asked cautiously.

“Despite all of my survival training, I’ve never learned to parachute. The first and only jump I’ve ever made was on that flight from Sapporo when the plane went down. It’s no surprise that I knocked myself out on the landing. I didn’t think about it when I came to, just scrambled up the mountain to get Logan out of the wreck. But once Logan healed, he figured out that I’d broken my ankle and concussed myself coming down, and that the wounds had healed. I asked Logan nick my arm, a little cut. An hour later, it was healed. And…”

I shut my eyes, letting the fragment drift into conscious thought…

“I… think there was one session in the lab… I think they tattooed a number on my arm. It hurt, but I’d been through worse so it barely registered. A day later they did it again because the number was gone. So I was healing back then. That’s why they had to give me the dog tags. Did Weapon X cause that?”

“I dinnae think so,” Daniel said slowly after some moments of consideration. He reached into his pocket for his data jack and slid it into its receptacle at the base of his right ear. “You’re right about the tattoos. Odd, that. Hang a mo…”

Only two seconds passed to my senses, but to Daniel, it probably seemed much longer. He pulled the jack out carefully. When he spoke, his voice sounded like he hadn’t used it for a week.

“I was right,” he croaked. He held up a hand, had a sip of wine, and cleared his throat. “There. Better. There were records about experiments they’d created for all sorts of mutants. Not a one of them touched healing talents. They don’t seem tae have ever developed anything about that.”

“That is odd,” I agreed. “You know I looked into it, and even signed myself up for a couple of trials. Are you saying that I tripped over something that the military hasn’t?”

“They didna look at it the way you did,” Daniel said decisively. “They approached it from what they could do fast. Healing is a tricky talent. It’s verra easy tae spill into wild mutations that end up like runaway cancer more than healing, most of which kill the mutant. You didn’t go that route. As I recall, you looked at geriatrics and pediatrics.”

“That’s right. Why some people live longer and babies grow faster. But wait a second –”

“What?” Daniel demanded, frowning.

“I just said that Weapon X gave me no martial arts training at all. Because…”

“Because you already knew it,” Daniel supplied. “Are you saying that they didn’t experiment with a healing factor for you because –”

“Because I already had it.”

“From where?” Daniel demanded, his expression skeptical.

“I don’t know.”

Daniel put the jack back in his ear. “When have you been in the hospital since your parents died? Then, of course, and when else?”

“I had the GPS and the jammer implanted.”

“Did you have a transfusion for any of those?”

I nodded. “Just when my parents’ assassins stabbed me. Can you see where the blood came from?”

His eyes danced, but he shook his head. “Just code numbers.”

“Can you see if anyone donated blood for me?”

Daniel’s eyes met mine. “Logan. I thought the medical establishment wouldn’t take mutant blood.”

“They finally figured out that they have to. Mutants can’t accept the usual stock.”

“Ah.” He communed with his little beasties. He pulled out the data jack. “Three of the pints used in your surgery came from a single donor… and it was donated in a single session after you were brought to the hospital.”

“It had to be Logan. I don’t know anyone else who could give that much blood at one time.”

“Medical literature doesn’t show a thing about mutant talents passing from one tae another through blood transfusions. I don’t think adding his chemistry tae yours hurt, but I’d attribute this tae your own talents, lass, not his.”

“Which one? Neither empathy nor time sensing have anything to do with a healing factor.”

“Something else. Your talents adapt.” Daniel sat up, his red eyes bright with the excitement of his thoughts. “They don’t like it when you’re threatened. When your parents were killed, you finally understood that you had to accept your talents tae protect yourself, and Logan helped you tae make something of them. Your talents adapted again when Weapon X took you. Each time they threatened you, your talents morphed intae something that would protect you. At first, Weapon X tried tae lie to you, but your empathy knew when they did. So they moved tae bullying, then to beatings. You were able to defend yourself. When they hurt you, whatever you did in those drug studies gave you the wherewithal tae heal faster, and maybe Logan’s blood helped that along. I found a line or two where the bastards were laughing that they didn’t have to be so careful how they hit you because you’d ‘gotten used to it.’ So Weapon X escalated again. When that lot tried tae rape you, when healing wasna enough, your emotional abilities stepped in.”

“And I projected.”

Daniel nodded excitedly– then froze. His face fell, and he stared into his glass. “I’m sorry, lass. I got carried away and was verra blunt. I’m sorry tae intrude.”

Strangely, I didn’t feel miserable. If anything, I felt intrigued.

“It’s okay, Daniel. What you say makes perfect sense. I wonder how far my ability to adapt goes.”

Daniel shook his head emphatically. “I dinnae want tae know, Rachel. Not at the price you’ve had tae pay to make them adapt. Anything worse…”

He shuddered and took another gulp of wine.

“It’s okay, Daniel,” I said reassuringly. “I’m okay. I appreciate what you’ve told me. It matches fragments I hadn’t been able to sort out, most likely because of the drugs.”

Daniel looked over at me with a smile. “I think you ought tae do some digging in what I kept from Xavier, if you have the stomach for it. See what you can make of it. See what you can make of you. I must say, though, that you don’t sound the least bit like the wee marionette that daft Cameron tried to make out of you.”

I thought about that. “I never was,” I agreed, somewhat to my surprise. I’d never thought of myself as stubborn, but that was what came to mind now.

Daniel chuckled. “Captain of your fate and all that.”

“I think you’re drunk, Daniel.”

“I am nae such thing. I am comfortably mellow, right enough. And so are you. You shouldn’t drive home that way. Stay here. The couch is quite nice, and I have some lovely Andean blankets tae keep you warm, and you shouldn’t be able tae hear me snore from here.”

I laughed. “I’ll take you up on your generous offer. Wait. Do you think…”

Daniel lifted his head off the back of the couch to look at me curiously. “What, lass?”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I spent the night in the other apartment?”

He grinned. “No. And I’ve got just the braw gear tae keep your bones nicely off that hard floor.”

“I’ve been sleeping on the frozen ground for two weeks, and on a hard futon before that –”

“Neither of which I hae, so you’ll hae tae make do with my climbing rig. Light, easy tae set up, and warm. I’ll loan you a tee shirt and some sweats, too.”

“That’d be great.”

“Come on, then.” Daniel didn’t quite bolt off the couch, but he moved faster than a drunken man. He navigated through all his stuff unerringly, so maybe he was only as mellow as he’d claimed. Whatever the case, he busily collected the things he’d named, and soon we were easing into the other apartment. He showed me how to adjust the air mattress, which wasn’t the bulky thing I remembered from my Scouting days, but an amazingly thin, light pad that cushioned as well as an expensive mattress and box spring. A prime down sleeping bag complete with a liner as luxurious as the softest cashmere went on top. He even provided extra pillows.

“There you are,” he sat back on his heels to regard his handiwork with satisfaction. “The best nest you’ll find for this aerie until you can feather it yourself. Will you be all right by yourself, then? I’ll stay with you if you need.”

“I’ll be fine, Daniel. Just key your door so I can get to the loo if I need it.”

“Done and done. Rouse me if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

Daniel stood up to go. I went with him to the door, where I gave him a big hug. “You are the best friend in the world, Daniel. Thank you so much for everything.”

Daniel returned my hug gladly. “Does this mean I can call on you for more of those buns?”

I laughed. “Absolutely.”

“All right, then. I will. A restful sleep tae you, lass.”

“And to you.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

The door closed behind Daniel, and I was alone in this big, empty cavern of an apartment.

I didn’t bed down right away, but watched the moon and the stars from the windows for a while. I listened to the emotions whispering softly around me, none of them more than a pale suggestion. I listened to what the dakini mosaic had to tell me about the woman who’d installed it here just because it was too beautiful to throw out, and how she hoped that someone would appreciate it some day. I did, now.

I slept in the middle of the floor, not against the wall, under one of the broad skylights, with no one beside me, no mountain of pillows to muffle me, comfortable in Daniel’s equipment that was at home clinging to the sides of precarious cliffs in remote, unreachable corners of the world. I slept without dreams, without waking, without regret.

 

** *

 

I woke in a pool of brilliant, streaming sunlight. Around me stirred the emotional threads of the people who lived in the building – someone was singing in the shower. The light played on the cream walls and intricate woodwork as I snuggled in the warm blankets. I lay there for a long time, drowsing as people began their daily routines. After a while, I got up to pack Daniel’s things into their original tight rolls, found a quiet moment in time where no one would be in the hallway, and slipped back into Daniel’s apartment. The door opened silently for me, and I eased it shut just as quietly. Daniel was not a morning person, so I tiptoed to the loo, made coffee, and settled with it, a cinnamon roll, and a book in one of Daniel’s comfortable leather chairs. Most of Daniel’s apartment was in shadow, but thoughts of the apartment next door warmed me along with Daniel’s alpaca throws.

Close to ten, Daniel climbed down from his loft like a sleepy sloth. He wore Mackenzie plaid boxers and nothing else, but given that he was a sleek, handsome man – albeit a pale one – I had no complaint.

“If you made coffee, you are an angel,” he graveled as he stretched.

“I did. Would you like me to warm a cinnamon roll for you?”

“That would be brilliant. Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully.”

“So you’ll think about the apartment, then?”

I handed Daniel a plate of warm rolls and a cup of the fiercely black coffee he loved. “I will. Is there some sort of interview process?”

Daniel gulped half his coffee, even as steaming hot as it was, then held out his cup for me to refill it. “You won’t have to put up with that nonsense. Just tell them you’re interested, and that’ll be it.”

“Eggs or waffles? Why would that be it?”

“Would you make that delectably fluffy omelet-soufflé of yours? Cheese, ham, and onions? Because I know who you are and some small part of what you’ve been through. It’s clear that you belong at Sanctuary, and you’ve got potential tae help in a lot of ways, though you may decide never tae do so. That’s it.”

“What’s the money like?”

Daniel named a figure. It wasn’t cheap, by any means, but given what I should be able to get for my New York condo, it was within reach.

“I’d like to meet the people, especially in the building. After Chicago, I’m not too comfortable with telepaths –”

“Isaac and Ephrem have similar difficulties,” Daniel nodded understandingly. “That’s one reason why there aren’t any in this building.”

Was it any wonder that Daniel’s words were such a relief?

“You’re wise tae be wary in any case,” he continued. “There’s a group dinner this Friday you’re welcome tae attend. You need tae be happy here, or wherever you settle.”

I set to work on Daniel’s omelet with a smile. I wasn’t ready to commit, but I liked what I’d seen and felt so far.

 

* * *

 

Daniel sent me home with a thick packet of papers to read about the apartment. I went to the Friday group dinner that he’d told me about, and the next two after that. Most of the people I met knew who I was and some of what had happened to me. Blessedly, none of them clamored for my attention, or asked embarrassing questions. Once I said I was interested in the apartment next to Daniel’s, I learned about the many activities that the group conducted. There was everything from the full spate of rec center crafts and hobbies and clubs to more serious ones, such as counseling services and scientific research.

Back in my own place, I mined the net on my own, checking and vetting as best I knew how. I discreetly called Hank McCoy and told him what I was thinking, and what he came up with reinforced all that I’d found or been told. He must’ve told Rogue, because she unexpectedly emailed me with a lot of things she’d collected from her grittier contacts. She thought the whole thing was a bunch of do-gooder boy and girl scouts, but she tended to put that spin on anything that wasn’t dressed in leather and tatted to the nines. Bottom line, underneath her snarking about the uncoolness of the place was grudging acknowledgement that they met her standards.

A month after Daniel first asked me to dinner, I put my New York condo up for sale.

Two days later, the condo sold for more than I expected, and I put a contract on the apartment in Daniel’s building. Three days later, I brought in kitchen and bath designers to plan those spaces. I loved all the daylight in the apartment, so did little to confine it. I added no walls except around the bathroom, and kept the same white and cream throughout. My favorite black pearl granite that seemed to reflect stars accented the kitchen, and white marble kept the bathroom light. I had a mosaic specialist take the dakini off the floor and put her on the wall instead, because something that lovely shouldn’t be walked on. When she was safely restored, I started packing.

That’s not exactly true. I got rid of a lot before I packed a box. In my years as an antique seller, I’d picked up several intriguing things that held no real attachment for me. They went into my shop and sold without fanfare. Even the antique four-poster bed I’d had reinforced to hold Logan’s weight went.

I sold my shop shortly after that, without regret.

What I moved into my new apartment was sparse for the space. I kept my parents’ Japanese pieces, my grandmother’s Empire sideboard, my books, and my kitchen knives and pots. Large tropical plants and folding screens divided the space into the semblance of rooms. A large stone fountain stood beneath the dakini to remind me of what I’d learned in Sapporo – calm water. My new bed was not a futon, but it was low to the floor and open to the moon and stars that shone above it through the skylights.

I kept the cushy sectional sofa that I’d bought years ago. It curved around the fireplace like a nest. It was the perfect place to curl with a book, a late dinner, a glass of wine, or a lover on a cold and quiet winter night.

I traded my bulky laptop computer for a sleek and unobtrusive tablet that served as library central, music arranger, and home security system. Daniel was in his element helping me arrange it. I was pleased to condense so many things into a single tiny unit that did as many amazing things as my own talents did.

Daniel stopped by with dinner the day I moved in. It was his own take on Chinese takeout, which meant it was excellent and steaming hot from the professional kitchen not fifteen meters from mine. I welcomed him gladly and helped him carry the platters around the boxes and the clutter.

“So that’s all your stuff, then?” he asked as I led him to the couch.

“Yes, thank goodness.” I slid some of the papers off the sofa to the floor and put the platter full of rice down. “Sit while I get some plates. I’ve got sake, red wine, or cranberry juice.”

“A glass of wine would be verra nice. Amazing that you’re stocked with anything.”

“I put in a few things yesterday figuring that it’d be late when I got around to eating, and I’d be too tired to go out. I’ve gotten the bed made and these few dishes out, so I’ll be at it tomorrow early. It won’t take me long to sort things out.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Daniel took the glass of wine I handed him and a plate. He held his glass up to me. “Alba gu brath, lass.”

I giggled as I clinked his glass with mine. “Ever the Scotsman.”

He grinned. “Always. Seriously, I expected you tae have a lot more stuff. But this place is so big that maybe it just looks like less.”

I plunked down beside the platters and handed Daniel a pair of chopsticks and a serving spoon. As he dug into the rice and kung pao chicken, I regarded the clutter.

“I sold most of the antiques. They were nice pieces that sold a day or two after I put them in the shop. If I need more, I’ll find things that fit. Or not. Mmmm, this is good.”

“Thanks. What’s the big stone thing by the door? A fountain?”

I laughed. “The very thing. Let me plug it in. It’s very soothing.” I got up to turn it on, and soon soft sounds of bubbling water filled the room. “I’ll put a water lily in it as soon as I can get to the garden center. And for the full effect…”

I keyed my tablet and soon an Indian raga joined the dancing of the water.

“Hmm. Verra last millennium. Quite atmospheric.”

“How about this, then?”

I called up some of Daniel’s favorite jazz, Stan Getz doing one of his trademark bossa novas.

His lips curled up in a wry smile. “So just who is welcoming whom here?”

“Consider it a thank you. I’m glad you told me about this place, and I’m pleased to greet you as my first guest.”

It was a quiet and peaceful way to begin what would turn out to be the most wondrous series of adventures that I could have imagined.

 

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